


to be alone with you

by bramblues (vanahymns)



Category: Love Simon (2018)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanahymns/pseuds/bramblues
Summary: The Ferris wheel finally makes its descent back to Earth, landing marked by a feather light laugh that Bram lets out towards the crowd still clapping for them.[or what happens after the winter festival ends]





	to be alone with you

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after _the_ Ferris Wheel scene, a small take on two kids getting the one-on-one time they deserve.

Simon almost forgets that after reaching the top, a Ferris wheel brings you right back down.

- 

He doesn’t notice the motion, the wind picking up and sweeping in from below, the crowd cheering and hollering. He doesn’t notice anything other than the hand lying on his. _Bram’s_ hand; long fingers and a soft palm. His gaze doesn’t want to move from it. The phantom feeling of fear lingers in the tiny crawl spaces of his brain, yet it’s still enough for him to think that maybe, just maybe reality will set back in and this will all be some daydream. That he’ll be forced to accept the pit of loneliness he’d tried so desperately to dig himself out from. Losing Blue – Bram, Bram _, Bram_ – before he was tangible was bad enough, he doesn’t even want to imagine what it would feel like now.

“Are you okay?” Bram asks, quietly and carefully.

The voice nudges Simon out of his anxiety ridden haze, and he finally lets his eyes tilt upwards. Bram is staring at him, surveying every creak in Simon’s face, with a frown that makes Simon ache. He mentally kicks himself for forgetting that there were two of them in that pit.

“Yeah,” Simon replies, letting out a sigh. Exhale, he tells himself, exhale, exhale, _exhale_. “More than okay.”

 -

The Ferris wheel finally makes its descent back to Earth, landing marked by a feather light laugh that Bram lets out towards the crowd still clapping for them. Everything had seemed so endless, before, up in the small pocket of night sky above the festival. Now, with the lights and the _faces_ and the loud whoops coming from all directions, a sense of just how small the world around him is settles in the pit of Simon’s gut.

“Show’s over everyone!” he hears Leah yelling, almost as if she somehow read his nerve addled brain, and Simon darts his eyes over to her. Abby and Nick are next to her, both waving their arms towards the exits as the clustered groups surrounding the Ferris wheel break away.

A swell of relief hits Simon hard, killing all the butterflies in his stomach, and finally, _finally_ , he pushes the bar in front of himself and Bram to the side. Simon’s knees feel like terrible school lunch Jell-O as he sits up. Beside him, elbow brushing his, Bram is still beaming brightly. It’s contagious, the sheer happiness radiating from Bram, and Simon can’t help but beam right back.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Abby says, sniffling, as they walk over.

“We all are,” Leah adds.

Garrett swings one arm around Bram’s shoulders. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about all this,” he says, voice slightly peaking in awe.

“My bad,” Bram shrugs.

By his side, Bram’s fingers twitch and Simon wants so badly to reach down, grab them in his, but he can feel all the eyes on him and he’s still not sure how much Bram wants those same eyes on him. A voice over a loudspeaker announcing the festival’s closing bursts the bubble of thoughts building up in Simon head.

“ _Shit_ ,” Simon groans, sliding a hand over his face. “I’ve gotta get you guys home.”

“I can drive,” Nick pipes up.

“You’re sure?” Simon says, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate.

“Of course, man.”

Simon sticks a hand in his pocket, rattles his fingers around till they knock into his car keys, and tosses them over to Nick who catches them with one hand.

“I seriously, seriously owe you,” Simon says as he drags Nick into a too-tight hug.

“Dude,” Nick laughs, rubbing rough circles into Simon’s back. “Just have a good time.”

They pull apart and Simon turns back to Bram, who’s laughing at something Garrett has murmured into his ear.

“Hey,” Simon says, hoping Bram can’t hear the pitter patter of his heart. “You want to get out of here?”

Garrett slumps his arm off from Bram and pushes his friend forward with a light shove. A blush spreads from Bram’s cheeks to his ears.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I really do.”

-

The walk to Bram’s - a decision made slightly out of convenience and more out of the near soul crushing need to be alone – is peppered with smiles half lit in lamplight and questions Simon already knows the answers to. _How has soccer been? Didn’t the play suck? How expensive were those ride tickets?_ It’s small talk and Simon hates it, but out in the open air of Creekwood suburbia it’s all he has the courage to muster.

“God, I completely forgot to ask if anyone was home.” Simon says as they reach the porch.

Bram laughs. “My Aunt is _still_ pining over that guy, so–” he puts a key into the front door’s lock, twists. “Mum thought a weekend away would help.”

Without the people and the blinding disco ball reflected lights, the inside of Bram’s house is cosy in a way that reminds Simon of his own. Bram is already heading inwards before Simon can take it all in.

Bram pauses, spinning back around to Simon. “Come on,” he says smiling, a cock of his head directing Simon to the stairs.

Taking each step up, Simon tries frantically to ignore the sharp twists of his stomach. Last time, drunker but maybe just as desperately, going up with these same strides had left him exhausted and entirely, utterly defeated. He tries, now, to concentrate on the curvature of Bram’s hand as he turns a doorknob.

“So,” Bram says as he gestures into the doorway. “This is my room.”

As Simon steps in, it’s more than a relief to see that the room isn’t the same one he caught Bram and the yellow heterosexual crisis in. Instead, Bram’s room is a tidy collage of soccer gear and school books. A stray packet of Oreos sits on his desk. It’s a near total opposite to the mess of odds and ends that fill Simon’s, but it feels comfortable. It feels just like he thought Blue would.

“You can put your stuff wherever,” Bram says as he shrugs off his jacket onto the back of a desk chair. It takes all the self-restraint in the world for Simon not to stare as he stretches, arms tight with coiled veins and muscle. He scans the room for a distraction and pauses as he eyes a small portion of wall dedicated to framed papers with big, red ‘A’s on them.

“I forgot you’re _the_ smartest person in our year,” Simon says in all consuming awe. How he didn’t realise the boy with the grammatically immaculate emails was the same boy who got his essays practically blessed by their English teacher each week was shameful to say the least.

Bram plants himself on his bed and laughs. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“You definitely are,” Simon smiles, walking towards Bram and the bed.

He sits close, not as close as he would like when he notices the way Bram is tensing in on himself. For a moment it’s almost silent, the buzz of the lightbulb and the distance noises of cars streets away humming in the background. He’s not sure what to say, and furiously worries that he never will outside of the safety net of text on a screen.

“I still can’t believe all this,” Bram says suddenly, barely. “I didn’t expect—I had hoped…” He trails off, swallows down whatever words he was going to let out into the world.

“What?”

“That it was you,” Bram says, voice thin and shaking.

Simon’s breath hitches as he feels his heart hurdle into his throat. For a moment it’s overwhelming, the feeling of being wanted. Bram is staring at him, face open and terrified, like Simon could possibly want anything more than everything Abraham Greenfeld is.

“Are you serious?” Simon asks, eyebrows raised.

“Simon, I’ve wanted it to be you for _years_ ,” Bram admits, voice threading at the seams. “First day of school I remember you sat across from me at lunch. But you didn’t say anything, and I didn’t or couldn’t or— but when Garrett told me your name you smiled so bright I—” he looks down, facing away from Simon, and stares at his hands fidgeting with each other in his lap. “I could’ve kissed you right there.”

Simon suddenly becomes acutely aware of the lack of anyone and anything around them when Bram pauses with a shuddering gulp. It’s the most Simon’s ever heard him speak, and he wants to will him to go on and on and on.

“When this whole thing started,” Bram continues after the beat of silence, “I thought I was wanting so badly that I was projecting it all onto you. I would picture you, saying everything in those emails, and I would—I would feel so wrong, I guess,” he winces.

“Hey,” Simon replies, tired eyes pleading as he reaches a hand over to Bram’s tightly wound fingers and curls into them. “I know, _I know_ ‘cause I—I felt the same, okay?”

Bram lifts his head up and turns it towards Simon, letting his follow body suit.

“Okay?” Simon repeats, firmer this time. He grips Bram’s hand tighter, hoping to anchor them both.

“Yeah,” Bram smiles, eyes crinkling as he lets out a trembling laugh. “More than okay.”

It doesn’t take much for Simon to lean forward and kiss him.

The hummingbird heart of his flutters in his chest. Simon doesn’t know if he could ever get used to this, doesn’t know if he ever wants to. Their entwined hands break apart as Bram lifts his up to the nape of Simon’s neck, and brushes against his hair. Simon feels a shiver dance its way up his spine at the touch, releasing as a ragged breath that catches halfway up his throat. The space between them — a patch of duvet and nervous air — is filled in when Simon moves from sitting on the edge of the bed to being fully on top of it, knees bumping against Bram’s calf. Bram follows, tilting his body to ghost over Simon’s. With Bram hovering over him, Simon can see just how flushed his cheeks are, warm pink and hot and glowing.

Bram curves his head towards Simon’s collarbone and presses a soft kiss against the skin of his neck. It takes all the effort in the world to stifle the quivering moan fighting to escape Simon’s mouth.

“I want,” Simon rasps, Bram’s breath burning hot against him. “I want to tell you something. And not just because you’re… kind of killing me right now.”

He needs Bram to hear him when he says this, needs him to know that what he says this he’s thought about for months and days and pages of unsent drafts. Bram moves backward, chest still heaving with the same quickened beats that Simon’s lungs and heart are making. They’re barely apart, and up this close Simon can see that Bram’s pupils have blown up, wide black holes in the centre of his eyes.

“I know I’ve basically already told our entire school this, but I haven’t told _you_ and that seems kind of unfair and — “

“Simon—"

“I think I love you,” Simon tells him, dizzy with the speed of his confession. He’s dreamt this before, he thinks, but hearing himself saying it out loud feels entirely new. He clears his throat, wanting his words to be as solid as possible. So he says it again, louder this time. “I love you.”

Bram grins, tongue sweeping over the top of his teeth. “That’s good,” he says, “because I love you.”

Bram leans in again, kissing Simon deeper, tongue tracing his lips. It leaves Simon shuddering, the realisation that this is him now, this is his life; a rush of adrenaline that surges through him.

“I should have told you sooner,” Bram breathes out against Simon’s jaw.

“Now is fine,” Simon replies, dipping his forehead to meet Bram’s. “Now is perfect.”

They stay still for a moment, pressed together, and Simon let’s himself forget the world around him. Just for a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Titled is yanked from the Sufjan Stevens song of the same name (because I am very weak).


End file.
